pixie dust world tour

Dream Boogie

2011-05-03T20:57:00.000-07:00

Today was the first day of Dream Boogie Class with SARK. Eight weeks of online community, mentoring and inspiration. I feel very excited about this class:)

This is the photo I chose to post. It makes me smile to think about the day I dressed up as Kwan Yin as part of the birthday challenge celebration, the weekend I performed at my very first open mic.

Here is the introduction I posted:

About me, I have spent the last six years after burning out from science teaching, exploring my inner and outer worlds. In this time, my marriage fell apart and I have been up and down and all around, boldly experimenting and then running away and hiding under rocks. I've lived in a monastery, worked on a farm, studied carpentry, creative expression and local food issues and studied music for a year. At a singing workshop at Esalen in Big Sur, I commented on how I didn't know where I was going next, just kinda wandering around and he replied 'You're not wandering - you are on tour!' And so I bought six hundred dollars of equipment and started playing at rest stops and street corners and wherever and the Pixiedust World Tour began. I feel a bit sad because my own fears and doubts rob me of excitement and motivation at times over the past few years and I think of giving up and doing something more traditional again. I dabble and I long to throw myself into it 110%. Consistently. And see what happens. I am happy to be here and look forward to being a part of this community gathering support, giving support and learning to support myself to take out the tour bus and don it with flashing lights and streamers and a big horn and invite people to jump on board with me, scattering magic pixiedust throughout the world like on a never-ending mardi gras parade, laughing all the way.

Next stop: right here, right now in Boogieland! (I posted a link to Suit of Armour, click now)

honk!, honk!,

chirin

Quicksand

2011-02-13T15:30:00.000-08:00

Where am I? What's my name? And how do you pronounce it? What year is it? What season? Why is it warm in February? What am I doing? What am I supposed to be doing? I've barely blogged this past year. I created this in part to help me stay motivated, track my journey toward more authenticity, toward more truth, toward more expression, more humility, more connection to myself and others. To share myself. In all my imperfections. Unabashedly. Courageously. And I find myself sitting here in a beautiful place, barely able to enjoy the warmth in the middle of what would normally be winter for me. Ice storms back 'home'. Ice storms in my heart. What's holding me back? I ask myself again and again. Where's the ground? Why is it that I barely pick up my guitar? What am I afraid of? There's an open mic tomorrow night. Will I make it? Or will I hide some more. Seeking the security of not trying over the risk of failure. 'I'm not ready.' I say. And then I don't get ready. Transition gives rise to old demons. Old habits of body and mind.

In school, I'd been too busy to blog. Too busy to connect to self. Too busy to work on my own songs. Now I have time stretching before me and I don't blog. I barely write. New soil. New possibilities. New realities. A man who loves and support me. I try to support myself. So many tools in my toolbox. Many are dull. Are all the tools equally effective? I carefully choose the appropriate knife in the kitchen depending on if I am slicing bread, chopping onions, slicing a lemon in half. Which tool to scrape off the layers of fear and doubt? To cut through the stories keeping me small, constricted. To pull me out of the quicksand of indecision, of overwhelm. I make little motions toward this branch or that, but can't seem to get a good enough grasp to pull myself completely out.

I'm on Day 6 of the Master Cleanse. Clearing my body. Maybe it will help clear my mind.

What to do? What to do? Meditate. Check. Email Mom. Check. What next? Read? Run? The Work of Byron Katie? Morning Pages of the Artists' Way? The new/old house still has corners longing to be free of dust. The garden begs for attention. The clean dishes await return to their place in the world. What's my place in the world? So many interests, ideas of how I can be helpful. I've dabbled in so many things. Will I keep dabbling? I long to wholeheartedly throw myself one hundred and ten percent into....what? Priesthood? Sustainability? Music? NVC Trainer certificaiton? The Work facilitation training? Conservation work? I long to fully express my love and concern for what in this life I hold dear. To have my life express my values. To have all the pieces in my life come together into a beautiful whole.

Whole. Happy and whole. That's what I wished for everyone this morning in my metta prayer. May I be happy and whole. May my family be happy and whole. May my partner be happy and whole. May my friends be happy and whole. May my teachers be happy and whole. May my former students be happy and whole. May my former coworkers be happy and whole. May my neighbors be happy and whole. May my acquaintances be happy and whole. May my strangers be happy and whole. May world social, military, political, and spiritual leaders be happy and whole. May all the soldiers on all sides be happy and whole. May all those who I've had ill-will towards and those that have had ill-will towards me: may we drop all the bullshit and just love each other. Amen.

And if it is in the highest interest of all beings, may my guitar find its way into my hands long enough for me to settle. To settle into this new place. To settle into myself.

a.m.

2010-09-30T07:42:00.000-07:00

good morning,

beautiful children of the Universe,

dawning anew, each of us, this day,

may the petals of our hearts blossom fully and fragrantly,

may our lungs fill with the promise of this new day,

and empty with gratitude for the gifts that keep showing up on our doorstep,

unexpectedly, arriving just when we need them in the perfect size, shape and color,

may we continue to be amazed at the way we show up to our lives seemingly unprepared,

the Universe making its requests and we say '-- i can't -- i don't know how -- i've got nothing to offer--i'm not ready --',

and then in an instant, vulnerable, our hearts burst open and treasures come tumbling out, sparkling and gleaming,

dazzling the Universe, which then laughs joyously and knowingly,

bursting into technicolor radiance, extending its hand, inviting us to join the dancing and singing.......

skype

2010-09-25T16:48:00.000-07:00

longing for a chunk of time to connect with you,

to laugh with you,

to share with you,

to clear up the mystery of the missed texts with you,

to discuss concepts in the book that we're both reading,

i long to call you 'Baby',

to smile at you,

to stick my tongue out at you,

to carry you around the house talking to you as if you were here,

to conduct my cooking show live for an audience of one,

i long to sit with you in silence,

staring at the little green dot,

tears forming after hours of 'this and that' as the clock approaches my midnight and your midday,

caressing my keyboard,

touching your face on the screen,

defying the story that distance is the product of rate and time,

dreading the click - but one of us has to do it -

quick, do it now!,

'I love you, Ba---.'

Sweet Dreams

2010-08-04T10:44:00.000-07:00

I noticed my arms rise up and I embraced myself as You.... so gently and sweetly in waves of caresses along my body and I breathed in deeply, a half smile forming on my face. I sit now with hand on my beating heart, eyes closed, sending you thousands of delicate little kisses that will slowly descend upon you in slumber, gently so as to not wake you, but upon waking, you will feel their caresses, continuously whispering their insistent message with each feathery kiss......

....you are loved.....you are loved....you are loved....you are loved....you are loved....you are loved....you are loved....you are loved.....you are loved....you are loved....

A jackal opens its mouth and before the word of resistance can be spoken, it is met with a kiss so delicate yet so passionate that its body yields, melting into bliss and with tears in its eyes, asks '...really?...truly?,,,,' and the kisses just keep coming in and he surrenders, laughing and says sheepishly 'okay...i am loved' and opens to the embrace, letting it sink in deeply and completely...

...i am loved...i am loved...i am loved....i am loved....i am loved...i am loved...i am loved....i am loved.....

may this be your mantra today, baby.....

Note: I feel excited about a handout by Doro Kiley, Professional Life Coach, that contains a definition of jackal versus giraffe language used in Nonviolent Communication (NVC) created by Marshall Rosenberg and referenced to above. Check it out:)

Smiling in Sante Fe

2010-06-18T09:31:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning and had no idea where I was. For a few seconds, I looked around in the semi-darkness and a few scenarios popped into my head jolting me around in space and time before I remembered I was in Sante Fe visiting friends I knew from my time in Moab, Utah.

Good friends. The kind of friends that no matter how long it's been since you've seen or spoken, there's no awkwardness and time takes on a funny quality as in 'Wow. How could you have done all that in the time since we last saw each other when it feels in this moment like it was just last week when Nat did that double pitch climb and Adam and co. hosted that 'roll your own sushi' party and then we were all laughing at that music festival when I bought a turkey leg and grease was dripping down my chin and one of y'all said 'Isn't this the girl who's about to go live on a vegetarian Buddhist lettuce farm?!?!?!?!?'

I sit here in amazement too because I had no idea Nat and Adam were back in the states. Last I heard, Nat was getting her Master's back in her homeland of Canada. When I arrived in Alburquerque a week and a half ago, I posted it on Facebook and Nat saw it and told me that they were in Sante Fe which is superclose to ABQ. I emailed back, thinking they were on vacation, saying I hope they are still there when I finish my training. It turns out that they live here and so after wrapping up in ABQ yesterday afternoon, headed up here and I feel so happy to reconnect with them.

I have felt quite disconnected from my friends and from community down in coastal Texas though it has been great to reconnect with my family. I went back last year thinking I would stay for a few weeks, maybe a few months to help my Mom rebuild her life after enduring Hurricane Ike and then head back west. I have chosen to stay to continue being helpful and to study music and will be going back for school in the fall.

This summer, though....this summer is a gift to myself of reconnecting with friends, with nature and with myself through songwriting and by continuing to explore how I can be helpful in the world. I'm driving and so I have flexibility to take advantage of opportunities that open up and to move at my own pace, receiving the gifts of the universe instead of rushing off to the next thing I have to do. I feel really grateful for that plan because I had originally booked my whole entire summer up with trainings and retreats with little time for friends or for myself. The new improved plan is a combination of both. And so, it is with much joy that I receive this unexpected gift of reconnecting with Nat and Adam. They are going out of town for the weekend and are gifting me the use of their studio where I plan to play with music and catch my breath from the intensity of the last few weeks (more later). Perfect, perfect, perfect.

About an hour ago, I had wanted to go for a run, move my body, breathe in the morning air and Nat told me about a trail that runs along the railroad track. I was supposed to take a left down this pedestrian alley a few houses down and then take a right and continue straight through some houses to the track. I became confused and couldn't find the track and thought maybe I would just jog around the neighborhood. I backtracked, tried to find the second alleyway again, wondering if anyone was home where I could knock on the door and ask and then I saw an older gentleman standing in his driveway. He was visiting too, but used to live here and pointed out the path to me. I gave him a hug and continued on. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

The alleyway popped out onto a paved track adjacent to the railroad bordered by plants and trees. I stretched, started the timer on my watch and took off, listening to the playlist on my Ipod I call 'Girlfriend'. It includes Alanis Morissette's '21 Things I Want in a Lover', 'Respect' by Pink, Indigo Girl's 'Closer to Fine', Lyle Lovett's 'Aint It Somethin', John Michael Montgomery's 'Life's A Dance' and India Arie's 'Private Party'. When the path came up to a road, I danced on the sidewalk until the way was clear and I smiled at everyone I came across: solo cyclists, cyclists with kids in those cute little carriers, joggers with cute little puppy dogs. I 'Hi-Five'd' the branches of trees reaching toward me.

As I prepared to turn around to head back, I suddenlty felt afraid as I realized I had not turned around and taken a look at where I had popped out from my friends' neighborhood onto this track. 'What if I run right past it?', I thought with a little bit of alarm. I strategized that I could run back for the same amount of time I had run to this point and I should be close. My experience is that usually it takes less time to get back than it did to get to the turnaround point so I was still feeling a bit concerned. I don't know this town well at all. And I kept running and smiling at people and then all of sudden, a woman popped out from the left ten feet in front of me. I stopped short in awe of the grace of the universe and had to manouever to not get run over by a family of bicycles. I tried to talk to the woman to express my amazement at her timing, but she just kept on walking oblivious to my experience or maybe aware that I looked a bit crazed in that moment.

Ain't it somethin' how the way things go? Perfect, perfect, perfect:)

Bon matin, mon cherie!

2010-04-11T18:01:00.001-07:00

I woke up in a luscious bed feeling fabulous still rendevous-ing avec moi in the hill country in springtime without feeling lack of any kind (see previous post Rendevous Romantique Pour Un). Birds were singing, the sun was hiding behind the clouds and it was cool and misty.

I walked downstairs and ate a croissant. Memories of croissant aux almondes in Paris. I loved Paris. So romantic. One of the reasons I picked this room was that it had a balcony off the bedroom with a table and chairs. I love to picnic and eat at cafes with outdoor seating.

I hadn't had a chance to check out the grounds yesterday so that was my morning plan.

I strapped on my guitar and wandered around to the strains of Opus 6, No. 1 by Fernando Sor and 14 Minietudes by J. Maurice Mourat. There were two greenhouses and this solarium with a water feature and koi.

There were numerous waterfalls and plants.

Only a very few mosquitoes out, not enough to dampen my spirit.

There's a saying that goes something like this: when you wake up in the morning alone with over half a bottle of champagne left over because the person you were going to share it with has just fallen in love with another, make a mimosa!

And so I did and had a lovely breakfast on my balcony serenaded by birds with the waterfalls gently murmuring 'you are loved, you are loved' in the background. I was really enjoying the lack of gadgetry. No roll out of bed and check facebook ritual this morning. No email or phone call to return. I was delightfully out of cell range. I was on the range. Home on the range.

I showered and then packed up singing, alternating between Amarilli, mia bella by Caccini and Danza, danza fancuilla gentile by Durante accompanied by my computer and speakers. I did have electricity here. I belted out the last melismatic phrase of Amarilli standing on the bumper of my truck and then swung in and headed to the main compound with the lake. Enchanted Lake.

They were preparing for a wedding. I moseyed over and found a table and chair and put my feet up. I shared some words with one of the workers and he generously offered to go find some oars so I could take a spin on the lake.

I accepted the offer and grabbed my guitar, rolled up my jeans and paddled out.

I proceeded to serenade the setup crew and a lone fisherman before heading back home. To home on the coastal plain.

Though not what I had originally envisioned, it was perfect just the same. I felt free. I had forgotten the magical feeling of being on the road, visiting new places, meeting new people - the feeling of anything-is-possible, of no rush, of everything falling into place just the way it is supposed to. I took a photograph in college once in Big Bend National Park of my feet in front of the desertscape and it was titled 'With, Not By,' meaning 'with myself, but not by myself.' It's a subtle difference, one where instead of empty, I feel full and present. Comfortable in my skin.

May we all feel fully embodied, full of love with nothing lacking and nothing needing to change. Big Texas-sized hugs to all y'all!!

Rendevous Romantique Pour Un

2010-04-11T17:39:00.001-07:00

While I saute some garlic, and listen to Dido and Norah Jones, let me fill you in on my day… Nine and three quarter hours earlier…

I thought an oil change would be good since I’m 1500 miles overdue and heading toward the hill country after class. Going to see some bluebonnets and hang out with my guitar. Alone. Wasn’t planned that way. Bought a groupon for a romantic getaway complete with champagne and chocolate covered strawberries with my new sweetie in mind: poet and seeker, Michael, who I met on New Year’s Eve. Our new relationship has had some twists and turns and this was the second time I was planning the getaway. Thought it would work out this time. Yes, man plans and God laughs, as the saying goes. We found a time that would work for us both, I booked it, and then he fell head over heels for another with no time left for me to get a refund. The owner, Carol, suggested I invite a girlfriend, but I thought it might be good to just take my best friend, my guitar – the one I bought on layaway when I was nineteen – who’s seen me through a divorce and several post-divorce breakups.

I had a voice lesson at 2 pm so I practiced for an hour and then went to change the oil before school, but when I started the car, it sounded terrible. It’s been running rough for a few weeks now. I popped the hood and my battery was knocking into the engine. My car wouldn’t start last week so I took out the battery and had it checked out. Turns out it was still good, but I needed to clean the terminals and connections. I couldn’t get it to fit in again just right. It’s smaller than the original battery. So now I’ve got a couple of problems and I’m supposed to be going out of town so I don’t end up wasting my romantic reservation at Blisswood, the hill country B&B. Now, I don’t have time before class so I clunk my way over to school, have a fabulous lesson with April, my fabulous teacher, and head into town to find a mechanic.

I hadn’t found a local mechanic or oil change establishment yet. I moved here last July and had been going back to Galveston each time and was planning to do that today but now time was running short so I headed into my new town to see what I could find. I saw a Jiffy Lube and headed in. When a woman approached, I asked her if she knew of a family owned place because I hate chains and also something was wrong with my car. She was very helpful and steered me toward a local gas station that did oil changes and had real mechanics. I thanked her and headed over. The mechanic that greeted me reminded of my Dad. Dad had been a quiet, no nonsense military man, a ship’s mechanic. This gentleman, Bill, listened to my complaints and said, ‘Let’s start with the oil change and go from there.’ I felt in good hands.

I grabbed my guitar and my travel chair and commenced to practice my classical guitar pieces for class. I had recently attended a Master Guitar class with Philip Hii and was very motivated to practice when I could. Lots of people stopped by to chat. I was asked if I knew some Eagles covers, if I was trying to be Janis Joplin, a fellow Texan, and if I knew that Barry White had been from Galveston. Bill returned to tell me my alternator was on the fritz, but he could get me a new one within the half hour. ‘Let’s do it,’ I replied, only grimacing slightly at the $350 price tag. What could I do? More time to practice.

I called the proprietor of the B&B and informed her my car was in the shop and it’s possible I might not make it after all. I wasn’t all that stoked anyway to go solo to the Oasis, which is the part of the property my lodging would be in.

Before I knew it, the truck was purring like a kitten before me and I headed home to pack. I made a peanut sauce, packed some greens from a farmer friend and some garlic. Threw a change of clothes in a bag, hugged Mom and got on the road. 5:30 pm. I might just make it before dark.

I started off singing one of my tunes. Then I listened to Democracy Now with Amy Goodman. Then I turned on a party mix a friend of mine, Adam, gave me when I lived in the desert. It was rockin’ when I approached, fields of bluebonnets in view as the sun was setting.

After having a little trouble finding the right room, I entered Harriet’s House which is really just part of a house. The first thing I did was look around for the champagne and chocolates. They were nowhere to be found. Nor was the continental breakfast for tomorrow. Not only did I not have the romantic partner, I didn’t even have chocolate. This would have to be remedied. Without even bringing in my things, I headed back to town to find Carol. I was a bit upset.

Carol runs a fine dining establishment in the teeny town of Cat Spring. I walked in and a woman I assumed was Carol was on the phone. I looked around. It was a darling place. Rustic. Antlers and white linens. When she was finished with her phone call, I asked if she was Carol and then with difficulty I said there must be some misunderstanding because there wasn’t any chocolate or champagne and now I have to go into the bigger town…. She cut me off and said, ‘Oh, let me get some for you right now.’ ‘Okay,’ I said in mid-upsetedness and as she walked to the kitchen, I thought, ‘Okay, everything is going to be okay.’ She returned and told her I liked her place and I appreciated she served local wines. Then I touched her arm and told her I was sorry I was so upset, but the lack of chocolate reminded me of my lack of a boyfriend. She had forgotten the email I had sent. She then gave my teary self a hug and asked if I’d like a glass of wine. I accepted. 'You really loved him, huh?' she asked. 'Well, no,' I said. 'I mean I loved him, but, ya know how every breakup reminds you of all your other breakups?...like my divorce...' She nodded empathetically.

We spoke a little more and I told her I was turning the evening into a personal musical retreat. Then she remembered my mentioning it in the email and said I have to meet her friend. She steered me over to G. Marie who is a songwriter. I then happily chatted about music with her and her husband (?) and friend until Carol returned with a box with flowers protruding from it. I said goodbye to my new aquaintances. Carol followed me to the car with the box. I told her I hoped to stay up with my guitar ‘til three in the morning like I used to do when I lived in the desert. I put the box in the car and gave her a hug. ‘You’re wonderful,’ she said as we both laughed. As I drove away, I thought it had been perfect that the champagne and chocolate covered strawberries had been missing because otherwise I would not have met her and she’s a quite lovely woman. It was comforting to connect in my vulnerability instead of isolating which I usually do.

So now I’m in Harriet’s House, sauteeing some garlic, about to add some swiss chard and open the bottle of champagne. I must think of an appropriate toast…

…pop…I raise my glass to all beings and toast the beauty and grace that always surrounds us whether we can see it or not...

...I made it! It is 3:31 am. I didn’t do justice on the bottle of champagne – sorry my grape friends L – but I ate all the strawberries…

Dinner was wonderful. Texmati brown rice with Swiss chard with a peanut sauce. It’s one of the things I can throw together without a recipe. I used to not be able to do anything without a recipe. I started with a dollop of peanut butter, and added Bragg’s amino acids, some leftover Reisling (I usually use Shiner Bock but was out), some rooster sauce, a little bit of fish sauce, some sesame oil and a splash of lemon juice. I ran out of Bragg’s so it was thicker than usual and so I didn’t have to add any cornstarch/water mixture to the pan to thicken it. My grandma likes my peanut sauce, but my Mom is not too crazy about it.

‘Estoy contenta…’ is the thought I was left with. I enjoy cooking. It always makes me feel close to my Dad. He liked to cook. We were either watching sporting events or cooking shows growing up. I particularly remember a cajun chef: ‘Pour a little wine into the pan, drink a little wine…’ My exhusband is a chef and my

My appreciaton for food increased during our time together. As did my time eating formal orioki meals at San Francisco Zen Center. Cooking is something I can lose myself in, like my guitar. I enjoy cooking for others and for myself. I can putter around the kitchen for hours.

However, I immediately succombed to a food coma and crawled under the covers and took a nap.

Afterward, I hopped out, poured another glass of champagne and picked up my guitar.

I started just playing around with some arpeggiated simple chord progressions. Before I got my teaching license and would substitute junior high school, I used to hand out the worksheets and then just pick my guitar while the students worked. And then when everyone was finished, I’d play them a few songs by the Eagles, John Denver, the Indigo Girls or Traci Chapman.

Generally, how I write starts with a vocal melody popping into my head and then I will very painfully try to figure out what chords will best accompany the melody. It entails a lot of trial and error. Sometimes no chord I know sounds good so I might change the melody or set it aside. Sometimes I would forget the melody unless I recorded it quickly. Now that I am learning the piano, I have started to write down the actual notes of the melody which will help tremendously with the accompaniement. I can’t wait for the summer when I can go back over all my old songs and finish some ones I couldn’t before.

I am trying to learn to write more than just accompaniment to my melodies. Mr Kiefer, my guitar teacher, taught me a little about fills and hammer ons and pull offs at the beginning of the semester and now I’m learning some classical pieces. So I was playing around. I still feel like I don’t really know what I am doing but the only way I’ll learn is to get to know my guitar a little better. For years and years, the only thing I ever did was strum basic chords and one simple arpeggio pattern. I learned songs. I never just fooled around on the guitar like some people and it feels uncomfortable. But I stayed with it and discovered I could hammer on and pull off with whole chords, not just individual notes. I used a very simple rhythmic motive – long/short/short – and went back and forth between Em and Am. I couldn’t figure out anything else that sounded good with that, but it was way more rockin than my usual country folk sounding strumming.

I played around with a simple interval – a minor second - Lord knows I could use some ear training practice. I want to make up a song using all the simple intervals so I can finally dial in those pesky rascals – I’ve cried more than once in that class. Makes me feel like I’m brain damaged. It’s unlike anything I have tried to learn before.

Well, that was fun. Now, on to a song. Mr Keifer is allowing me to work on one of my songs to perform for jury. I’m going to fill in some boring parts with some some chord variations and he suggested some more vocal variety like I did with Brown Eyed Girl last semester. I had a lot of fun with it tonight. He had showed me an alternate way of doing my Bm chord – one with a bar and he showed me a Bsus and a B7. I have this one part where there are many bars of the same Bm with a sustained vocal note that I want to spice up. I played around with the new variations trying to find something that would work. It turned out totally cool. At first it sounded bad and didn’t even seem to go at all, but I kept trying and ended up just using the Bsus, but I also changed the strum pattern. This is the repeat of the chorus right after the bridge and the tension remains really high. The words are ‘We tried…….to hold on. We tried…….but only made it worse.’ And then, in the spirit of variation, realized I could spice up the C to and I added a Cadd9 and used the same new strum pattern. It’s a down/up/up.

This song is SO much better than the original, original version I wrote in 2006. I was telling Mr. Keifer that it used to be in the form of A A A A A A A …ad nauseum: the chords were the same for the chorus and the verse. The whole reason I went to the songwriting school last summer was to learn how to vary it and still make it sound good. I didn’t know how the different chords related to each other. I didn’t know anything about theory or chord progressions – I just found chords that matched the melody in my head which I’m sure is a subconscious cut and paste of the many pop and country songs I have heard in my life.

So now, at 4:30, I can go to sleep having spent some quality time with myself and my guitar. Tomorrow before I leave I am going to strap on my guitar and check out the lake and grounds and play and sing with the birds.

No thoughts of loss of Michael. I am really happy for him actually. He has fallen head over heels. Sypathetic joy is a beautiful, beautiful thing. I’m planning to go to his going away party next week and offer a song or two. She will be there and I look forward to meeting her. Only by the grace of God and meditation and lots of excellent teachers and role models could I be this open. It feels really good.

I subscribe to Alanis Morissette’s definition of love in her song ‘Nothing in Return.’ I love him and if she makes him happy then that’s what I want for him. I trust the universe to continue to hold me in its arms and love me til the day I die. And then keep on loving me. Life is like a cadenza. We do our beautiful solo and then blend back into the orchestral heavenly harmony. Amen.

(And I thought this weekend might suck! J )

genkydeska

2010-03-25T06:07:00.000-07:00

the dance continues with no place to stand

only a place to watch

we create each other

always

meeting ourself time and time again

and wondering why we are not perfect

what is wrong with you? we ask,

never noticing that our glasses are full of scratches and the prescription is thousands of years old

we judge others as if they are the doers,

we ask for what we think we want and when it comes we say 'what the fuck?'

'lie to me' is what we were really saying

'accept me!' we demand when we can't even do it ourselves.

what is truth, anyway?

what's not a story?

when can we go back to the time before words? before the apple?

what about now?

will we love each other now?

can we remember the divine essence from which we both sprung?

until we forget again.

funny thing, this life, and all its shoulds. planet should. inhabited by shoulders.

i'm dying. whoop, there i went. rest in peace, sweet innocent dreamer. you tried really hard. you did your best. your heart was in the right place. i'm sorry i didn't appreciate you more. didn't let you play more. i'm sorry i was so hard on you. i'm sorry i expected so much and gave you credit for so little. i'm sorry i never let you off the hamster wheel. i'm sorry i always asked more, more, more and was never satisfied. i'm sorry we spent so little time just being, enjoying the beauty of what was. i love you, baby. so much. i'm sorry i didn't know how to show it. go, be at peace. finally. you deserve it. and you always have.

What am I supposed to be learning? Music proficiency or poise and grace?

2010-03-17T19:57:00.000-07:00

Here I offer my first piano performance exam of the semester. Class Piano 2. Ivan Sings composed by Aram Khatchaturian. Well, Ivan attempts to sing through the piano and me and has a difficult time expressing himself. My first performance B in piano. No one got an A. Dr. Termini gave a very rousing lecture afterwards on expression in music and likened us to lifeless drones or something like that.

He asked us to ask ourselves why we wanted to be musicians. It's a good question. He said that the world is full of people who were technically proficient and that's not enough to sell tickets. If they can't 'feel you', they'll be bored. You have to connect to the audience. Share the experience with them. He's shown us video clips of some great performers so that we could see that it didn't matter that they missed a note here or there- the audiences loved them and didn't care because they were so moved.

Dr. Termini wants us to take risks - to risk missing a key if it's going to mean that we're up there saying something and not just going through the motions. It was quite a memorable speech. My friend Amber wished we had gotten it on video. I can really appreciate him wanting to set the bar high and to pass on what he has learned in his experience. He wants us to succeed. He cares:)

I care. This was the hardest piece yet. I made a lot of mistakes. Apparently, I even learned one note wrong. I had just memorized it, so I thought. It definitely was not an A performance. Not only did I get some notes wrong, have pauses due to rough transitions, and my bass was too loud, but I got points deducted for vocalizing my displeasure at my stumbling. It's a bad habit. When I perform with my guitar at open mics, sometimes when I mess up, I let out a screeching 'Aaaaaah! that reminds me of James Brown.

My other pieces last semester, I had memorized at least a week before the test and had time to work on expression. My first piece used to bring me to tears. I had finally gotten to the point a day or so before that I wasn't constantly focused on technique and was moved. It didn't happen during the performance though. I was still memorizing and working on technique. Especially those grace notes. I learned a lot. It kinda felt like I was trying to pat my head and rub my tummy at the same time.

AND..... I am totally stoked to be playing the piano!!! Who would have thought? I didn't even know there was a bass clef until the first day of piano last semester:) hee hee. I thought Every Good Boy Did Fine and that was it. I'll catch up with the band kids yet!!!!

Dr. Termini had us practice in front of the class the week before and it was wild. I didn't want to go. I didn't have it memorized. I still was getting lost. I had some of it memorized and I'm still so new to reading notes that sometimes I had the hardest time finding where I was in the score. I'd look down at my fingers and think 'okay, I need to find a place where there's a G in the right hand and an F and a C sharp in the left.' Sometimes, I just couldn't find where I was and would just have to start over from the beginning. The only thing that was working well was the pedal. I was one of the last people to go. Earlier, one young girl in the class sat down at the piano and was so frustrated with mistakes right at the beginning that she banged her hands on the keyboard and walked off, refusing to try again. I could relate to that feeling. I was sitting there thinking 'This is going to be sad.' Luckily, I also had the thought 'Well, this is my offering. I can't be any better than I am right now. I'll do the best I can.'

I walked up to the piano. I sat down and, miraculously it seemed, was really kind to myself and present. I focused on what I was doing and wasn't worried about what people were thinking, just what to do next. And next. And next. Dr. Termini helped me find my place and then at one point had me just move on to the next section. So I did without any self deprecating thoughts. Just doing the next thing as instructed. (Follow the simple instructions, Byron Katie says.) And I made it. To the end and didn't cut off the last note like most people had done, glad to have gotten the public practice over with, leaping out of the spotlight as soon as possible.

With gratitude, I let that last chord ring out and I listened. And then I turned to my audience, my classmates, with a huge smile, waved my fist in the air and yelled out 'Yeah!' And it's true that the audience wants you to succeed because everyone cheered with me. If I had dissed myself, people may have felt uncomfortable for me and squirmed in their seats. I put them at ease with my acceptance of myself except for one classmate who is as hard on herself as I am on me who said in disbelief: 'You're happy with that?!?'

Indeed I was. Happy to be playing the piano. Happy to be learning about music and about life. Cheri Huber says the process is more important than the content. I think she's right. I am happy to be supported by so many beings including myself, 'mistakes' and all.

The Singing Ladies of Ferrara

2010-03-17T19:40:00.000-07:00

So...since I have hardly posted anything since school started last fall, let me share some of what I've been learning...here's my research paper for music literature last semester. I found it really interesting to study female musicians in the renaissance. Here's a link to a group in collaboration with a musicologist who is attempting to recreate their work called Musica Secreta. Hope you like it:)

The Singing Ladies of Ferrara

The latter part of the sixteenth century was a transitional time in music and art, a time of new ideas and experimentation and a mingling of art forms. Much music was written in Italy. The next musical era, the Baroque, would see the birth of Italian Opera. But before the rise of opera divas, there were the Singing Ladies of Ferrara. These accomplished musicians became known throughout Italy and abroad for their virtuous singing. Their style was copied by other ‘concerti di donne’ which arose during this time. They inspired poets and composers including Renaissance poet Torquato Tasso who in 1593 published this verse, ‘Forse e cagion l’aurora’, in tribute to one of its later members:

Perhaps the reason for the dawn is the beautiful sound

the leaves and branches and the waters and the wind make?

O in this sweet way, the sky honours Tarquinia

and because of her falls in love with the earth.

I hear, or it seems to me, I hear a voice: it can only be hers;

Lo, Tarquinia comes, and Love approaches. (1-9)

They were ‘professional’ musicians at a time when women could not officially be professional musicians. Though overlooked for centuries, modern scholars and vocalists are now paying tribute to this remarkable group of women in writing and performance (Gras). Who were these ‘ladies’ and what causes and conditions coalesced to create this musical phenomenon?

The Singing Ladies of Ferrara were not a group of women who decided to form a group and support themselves by selling recordings and touring. This would not have been possible during the time in which they lived. Women during the Renaissance had little choice in their vocation outside of child rearing. The incomes and careers of women who had them were managed by their husbands or fathers (Pendle 83). At this time, some singers were amateur noble women members of court and such as the renowned Lucrezia Bendidio, born in 1547 (Paganuzzi 467). Most of the women with more training were courtesans who made up the majority of singers at court from the Middle Ages through the first half of the sixteenth century (Jander 341). Courtesans were highly trained prostitutes who wined, dined and entertained their male guests with music and witty conversation (Pendle 57). During the late Renaissance in Italy, much care was taken to ensure distinction between the two (Pendle 83). The ‘Singing Ladies’ were neither courtesans nor were they of noble birth. How, then, did they come to be?

Laura Peverara, Anna Guarini and Livia D’Arco were brought together in 1580 by a man with power: Duke Alfonso II of Ferrara. He was a patron of music as were the three Dukes that came before him (Lockwood, 486). A rich musical tradition existed at the Este Court. In the 15^th century, it had become internationally important as a musical center (Lockwood 486). Important visitors were treated to the Duke’s private chamber music, which became known as Musica Secreta. In 1580, the Duke married his third wife, Margherita of Mantua, who was also a patron of music. She was fifteen and in part to entertain her, he assembled more singers. Lucrezia Bendidio, mentioned earlier, had been retained at court by marriage. He had tried to go this accepted route and assemble more women of nobility who could sing, but was not successful. The last noblewoman he had ‘acquired’, Leonora Santivale, had died in childbirth (Gras). Not giving up his love of music, he then looked to the artisan classes (Gras) finding ways to make it work within the confines of his time. He brought over Laura Peverara, born in 1545, the daughter of a wealthy Mantuan merchant, older, and already known to be a singer of great excellence and charm (Newcomb 605). Laura was an accomplished harp player (Gras). Anna Guarini was the daughter of the famous Ferrarese poet, Battista Guarini (Hanning 771). Livia D’Arco was the youngest member and though she was from a minor noble family, it would not have been enough for her to be a member of the Duke’s court. She was brought for her musical potential, immediately beginning study of the lute (Gras). In need of further training, she did not perform with the group until 1582 (Pendle 80). He had earlier hired a male singer, Brancaccio, but then fired him in 1583 for insubordination. He was not replaced which left an all female ensemble.

The three women; Laura Peverara, Anna Guarini and Livia D’Arco; were all officially ladies-in-waiting to the Duchess of Ferrara and accompanied her on outings. None of them would have been in this position without talent as musicians and therefore were an anomalous entity in this time period. Arriving unmarried, marriages to nobles of Ferrara were arranged to lend respectability to the court, clearly differentiating them from courtesan status and, in the case of Guarini and D’Arco, removing them from the ‘ownership’ of the Mantuan court. Unfortunately, Anna Guarini’s jealous husband would later murder her under the pretext of infidelity (Hanning 771).

These three ladies remained in the service of the Duke from their arrival in 1580 until 1598 when the court dissolved after his death without heir (Lockwood 486). He had earlier hired a male singer, Brancaccio, but then fired him in 1583 for insubordination. He was not replaced which left an all female ensemble.

Tarquinia Molza, an older woman with higher social status was brought in as a performer and mentor to the group in 1583 (Newcomb “Molza” 474). She was the niece of a famous poet and was, in her own right, a poet, musician and scholar recognized in academic circles (Gras). A widow, she had studied music with the approval of her husband. Her five-year membership came to an end in 1589 when her affair with composer Giaches de Wert was discovered (Newcomb “Molza” 474).

The group had a rigorous schedule. In addition to their ladies-in-waiting duties, the women rehearsed four to six hours a day. The Duke listened to them two to four hours daily in his private chamber (Newcomb “Madrigal” 470). They sang singly, in duos and in trios (Strainchamps 378). In addition to singing their repertoire, they could sight read from part books (Pendle 82). Each member was proficient with at least one instrument and could accompany herself and/or the ensemble (Pendle 82). They also performed in the court balleti singing and dancing (Pendle 82).

What were ‘Ladies’ singing? They were performing the most important secular genre of music of the Renaissance: the Italian madrigal. The madrigal was a combination of poetry and music; a popular form of entertainment in Italian courts (Forney 114). Late Renaissance madrigals were especially rich, directly expressing the composer’s musical personality with chromatic harmony, and dramatic declarations vividly depicting emotion (Forney 116). The Ladies’ early repertoire consisted of embellished and modified existing madrigals and later included works composed specifically for them.

The Concerto Delle Donne differed from earlier singers in their virtuosic vocal style (Pendle 81). During this time, the soprano voice emerged as a major player in performance and an influential factor in composition (Jander 341). It is believed that the women probably improvised in rehearsal and then committed the perfected harmonic improvisations to memory (Pendle 82). This ‘new style’ of singing showcased wide-ranging and technically demanding ornamentation (Newcomb, “Madrigal” 470). For example, singers used low or high tessitura, unusual vocal intervals including the tritone, the 7^th, 9^th and 10^th(Newcomb “Madrigal” 470). There were also abrupt silences and contrasts of tempo (Newcomb “Madrigal” 471). Madrigals of the 1580s became increasing ‘saturated’ with ornamented diminutions. This was not for the amateur singer.

Composers were inspired to write out ornamented vocal lines after hearing the ‘voguish new sound of an ensemble of high voices’ (Jander 341). Five staves including three soprano melodies can be seen in manuscripts from this time (Pendle 81). The director of the Musica Secreta, composer Luzzasco Luzzaschi, took five voice madrigals, and used lower voices for accompaniment and higher voices for the sopranos (Gras). An example of one of the works composed by Luzzaschi and thought to be part of the ‘secret’ repertoire not allowed to be published until after Duke Alfonso II’s death is the “Madrigali per cantare et sonare a 1-3 soprani” (Strainchamps 378). Monteverdi, a prominent madrigalist, visited and his subsequent works indicate the influence of his hearing of the Singing Ladies. In his first book of madrigals, the bass enters only after eight or more bars of rest; after the entry of soprano voices (Jander 341). The work, “Solo e pensoso”, of the composer Giaches de Wert shows the influence of the singing ladies (Newcomb “Madrigal” 471).

The benefits accorded the Concerto Delle Donne were many. Laura Peverara received a dowry for her marriage, an apartment in the ducal palace and stipends for her mother and husband (Pendle 83). Torquato Tasso dedicated many poems to her. In addition, three important musical anthologies were dedicated to her (Newcomb “Peverara” 605). During her tenure, Tarquinia Molza, a widower, instead of a receiving another husband, negotiated an apartment and a salary more than twice as high as Luzzaschi (Pendle 83). Later in her life, she became the first woman to receive Roman citizenship (Pendle 83). Anna Guarino and Livia D’Arco were flattered with poetry.

Though not all of its members achieved the same renown, the group, Concerto Delle Donne, became known far and wide and what evolved from the group singing together is of lasting import. The Singing Ladies were influenced by and then influenced the madrigal composers of the time. Together, performer, composer, patron and audience charted new territory. The uncharacteristic path of their lives helped shape a change in the relationship of women to music. Opera singers of the following era would have much more freedom, be recognized as professionals, and would not be required to marry and risk the murderous impulses of a jealous husband. Duke Alfonso II did not know what would be created when he sought out singers. He let his love of music lead the way. These ‘ladies-in-waiting’ must wait no longer for recognition not just as a Renaissance popular group that would have sold many CDs and filled many concert halls, but of their contribution to the evolution of music. Now, thanks to the formation of the musical group, Musica Secreta, in the 1980s, we can all be ‘important’ visitors to the Duke’s private chambers and pay our tribute.

Works Cited

Forney, Kristine and Joseph Machlis. The Enjoyment of Music. 10 ed. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. 2007. Print.

Gras, Laurie. “Early Music Times: Concerti di donne.” Dangerous Graces. U of Southampton. Feb. 2000. Web. 30 November 2009.

Jander, Owen. “Singing.” The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians^Ò. Ed. Stanley Sadie. New York: MacMillan Publishers, Limited. 17. 1980. 338-346. Print.

Lockwood, Lewis. “Ferrara.” The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians^Ò. Ed. Stanley Sadie. New York: MacMillan Publishers, Limited. 6. 1980. 486-489. Print.

Newcomb, Anthony. “Laura (Peperara) Peverara. The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians^Ò. Ed. Stanley Sadie. New York: MacMillan Publishers, Limited. 14. 1980. 605. Print.

Newcomb, Anthony. “Tarquinia Molza.” The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians^Ò. Ed. Stanley Sadie. New York: MacMillan Publishers, Limited. 12. 1980. 474. Print.

Paganuzzi, Enrico. “Lucrezia Bendidio.” The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians^Ò. Ed. Stanley Sadie. New York: MacMillan Publishers, Limited. 2. 1980. 467. Print.

Pendle, Karen. “Musical Women in Early Modern Europe.” Women & Music: a history. Ed. Karen Pendle. Bloomington: Indiana U P, 2001. 57 – 96. Print.

Tasso, Torquato. “Forse e cagion l’aurora.” 1593. Dangerous Graces. U of Southampton. Oct. 2002. Web. 30 November 2009.

Hanning, B. Russano. “Battista (Giovanni) Guarini.” The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians^Ò. Ed. Stanley Sadie. New York: MacMillan Publishers, Limited. 7. 1980. 770-772. Print.

Strainchamps, Edmond. “Luzzasco Luzzaschi.” The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians^Ò. Ed. Stanley Sadie. New York: MacMillan Publishers, Limited. 11. 1980. 378-381. Print.

Newcomb, Anthony. “Madrigal: The 1580s: The ornamented style: Dissemination of the hybrid madrigal.” The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians^Ò. Ed. Stanley Sadie. New York: MacMillan Publishers, Limited. 1980. 2. 470 – 471. Print.

Waiting For Plates

2009-12-25T22:33:00.000-08:00

School's out for winter. Yippee! My workaholic, perfectionistic tendencies didn't allow for much socializing last semester at 'music school.' I am still adjusting to being back in the Lone Star state and am slowly finding like-minded individuals and groups of people who share my values. It's taking much more effort than I am used to and part of it is how spread out everyone is here. So much commuting and living off

this highway and that highway - all these towns dotting Interstate 45 in between the Gulf of Mexico and Houston - doesn't favor a sense of community. Most people I work with don't even live in the town in which we work. I am connected to a community in Houston, the Houston Zen Center - but I haven't seen them much. I'm not used to having to drive everywhere. I think of oil and time. I'm used to living in community so small you don't even need a bicycle, much less a car. No environmental guilt. No wasting time in transit. Although I have noticed as I've ventured out more since school's been out how inspiring a drive is for composing lyrics. "Bright Lights" and "Kanzeon" arose during my last jaunt up to the big city. And why was I headed to the H-town?

I was superstoked. I was going to feed some homeless persons downtown. On a date. A first date with a guy I met at a party. I had gone to Zen Center that morning and had run into a friend who told me about the party at my friend Brian's yoga studio. (Y'all in the neighborhood should totally check it out: Vital Way Yoga. There will be a potluck/drum circle/dance party for New Year's!) It was the first party I've been to in WAY too long. The last party I went to was my friend Wen's birthday party in July and there were no guys there at all except for her boyfriend. I can't even remember the last 'party' party I went to. I was excited to get out, meet some interesting people and see my friend Brian whom I hadn't seen since my move back to Texas in February.

It was awesome. I had more stimulating conversations in those few hours than I've had in the past month. I caught up with my friends Mary and Kirsten and Brian and met some interesting people. One guy caught my eye right away. I looked twice. Could he be single?

He was friends with Brian and after introductions, I spoke to his friends for awhile but didn't talk to him until he was leaving. Then, I find out he's a musician. Just a week or so ago, I was at the Chelsea Wine Bar with my friend Queenie talking to my advisor and theory teacher, Sparky, who was playing there with his jazz band and I asked him 'Where are all the single, intelligent musicians who are concerned about the planet?' He didn't know. Well, ladies and gentleman, I realized I might have just met one. This was turning out to be the best day. He told me about his band and I told him about the kinds of songs I like to write. He asked me if I was a friend of Brian's on Facebook. I told him I was and so we said we'd check out each other's stuff online. And then he left.

We accepted each other as Facebook friends and started zipping emails back and forth. The more he told me about himself, the more excited I was. He was vegan. He was an avid cyclist and advocate who didn’t even own a car. He was leaving on a road trip the next day so he asked if I wanted to do something before he left. Hell yeah, I thought. We exchanged phone numbers and started texting as I left the house to meet my friend Darlene. He asked if I wanted to join him in feeding the homeless that night. My jaw dropped as I read the text. One of the reasons I had gone to Zen Center the previous day had been to find out if I could join in any service projects they had going on, but I had forgotten to ask. This was going to be my kind of date. I couldn’t wait!

After a bike ride along the shore, I met him at his place where he was cooking rice. As soon as I got there, I asked for pen and paper to write down some lyrics that had come to me on the drive which I then sang for him. We talked while he shelled pecans for us to snack on. Local nuts – he’s my kind of guy. We talked about food and favorite books and music and our lives. Then I drove us and the rice downtown.

He set down the rice and I met some of the other volunteers. Two men were shouting and another man told us they were high. I turned to my date and offhandedly suggested that we should chant or sing songs to ease the tension. We kept walking over to the low stone fence and set down the rice. More volunteers with Food Not Bombs (http://www.foodnotbombs.net/) showed up but we couldn’t serve yet because the person who was bringing the plates had not yet arrived. It was then that I had one of those light bulb moments. I remembered that I had brought my guitar. I had brought it thinking that I would share some of my songs with my date later. I realized that the time was now. I could perform for the crowd while we were all waiting for plates.

All thoughts of being on a date vanished. I didn’t tell him what I was going to do or even ask if it would be okay to do it. I just ran to my truck and grabbed my guitar. I walked up to the line and started singing. I started out playing the song I most recently had been working on for my guitar final, Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl (my guitar teacher posted it on Youtube). I received the smiles of men and women waiting in line and returned them. Soon after I started, the plates arrived, but I just kept on singing and strumming. It felt so great.

I finished that song and was asked to play it again. I asked for the name of the requester, shook his hand and played and sang it again for my new friend James. I got a request that I didn’t know which made me think for the millionth time that I really need to learn more cover tunes. I played one of mine. I met Escobar who told me some about his life and I offered him the guitar. He played and sang a tune and it turned into a song circle. I was amongst friends. I walked around and sang while everyone ate and afterwards, the guitar was passed around and I was blessed to share that space with some awesome individuals. I lost all reference for the word ‘homeless.’ We all seemed right at home. Nothing felt lacking, nothing amiss.

At one point, I noticed that dishes were being washed. I turned to one of my new friends and said, “I should go see if I can be helpful.” I was moved when he said “You’re being helpful right here.” I’d like to think he was right.

I still sometimes doubt myself in my pursuit of music. Why would I do that when I have a perfectly good degree in my pocket and could be making decent money, doing a good thing teaching kids about the earth and have health insurance. They helped me know why. Those kind souls with nothing to give, gave me so much that night. They were the ones who came to receive food, yet I walked away feeling nourished.

Four years ago when I challenged myself on my birthday to play at an open mic at a coffeeshop in Moab, Utah and thought I was going to vomit or pee in my pants, I had no idea I would one day be able to play in front of strangers in public at the drop of a hat with the ease of putting on a pair of socks. Like it was ordinary. Without thinking twice. Without doubting myself or telling myself it was a stupid thing to do. Without thinking about what anyone would think.

As I hugged them goodbye, I felt in my place. Firmly planted. Doing what I was supposed to be doing. Dogen said ‘Find your place where you are and practice will occur.’ We were all supposed to be on that street corner. Reminding each other that strangers are only friends you haven’t met yet. Not for one minute did I pity them or feel sorry for them. That allowed me to not separate myself from them. It was like being at a dinner party.

May all my new friends downtown be warm on this Christmas Day and may their hearts and stomachs be as full as my heart was on that downtown street corner sharing words and music and presence under a sliver of moon. Sometimes a sliver is all you need.

Music 101... OR... Am I still in Texas?

2009-08-30T21:24:00.000-07:00

Here's my homework assignment for Music Literature:

Find a statement on music by a philosopher (or a philosophical statement by a musician about music), and share it with the class. Try to use a reliable source, remember that Wikipedia and other websites often contain mistakes and misattributions.
Quote the statement, list who said it, and then respond to it. Do you agree or disagree? Or does it make utterly no sense to you?

“I've never known a musician who regretted being one. Whatever deceptions life may have in store for you, music itself is not going to let you down.” Virgil Thompson (1896 - 1989) American Composer & Music Critic

This quote really resonates with me. I have only recently 'owned' being a musician. I had very concrete ideas of what a musician was and since I had no formal training, didn't read music, didn't write music, couldn't play songs on the guitar by ear and didn't 'jam', I concluded I couldn't possibly be one. And yet I loved to sing. Sang in church as a kid in the choir with my grandmother on visits, sang in the hallways of Weis Middle School in Galveston, in the shower and in choir. When I got to high school, the counselors advised me to drop choir so that I could fit in another computer class. And so it went.

I studied science in college. While there, I tried to join the choir and was told I couldn't because I didn't read music. On Friday nights, I'd gather with friends from the environmental group I was in. We'd cook a vegetarian meal and then sing songs while some played the guitar. I ran out of money, dropped out of school, went home, got a job and bought a guitar on layaway. I also bought some songbooks (Indigo Girls, Eagles, John Denver, Traci Chapman, the Police and the Beatles). When the guitar was paid off, it was sent to me in Yellowstone National Park where I was working for the summer. I sat by the Firehole River and learned to play some songs on the guitar so I could back myself up singing. After that and other adventures (long story), I went back to school. One of the highlights was working at a restaurant and bar across from campus and singing kareoke on thursday nights when it was dead. That was also where I met my ex-husband to be. I finally graduated on the 7 1/2 year plan (Gig 'em Aggies! Whoop!).

I got married, became a science and math teacher and my guitar began to gather dust. Long story short, I burnt out of teaching, my marriage fell apart and I ended up in the desert keeping myself busier than busy so I wouldn't feel a thing. When that stopped working, I sat in the silence, started to feel and dusted off my guitar. I wrote my first song - I had to - and started to perform. I always thought I'd go back to grad school and study science, do research, and teach. Interestingly, instead, after some very windy roads, I find myself here (at College of the Mainland in the petrochemical mecca of Texas City) studying music without really a clue as to where I'm headed. I've just noticed that when I am writing a new song, time stops, all doubts drop away and I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be doing what I am supposed to be doing. No regrets.

(The concluding thoughts might be best expressed in a song - see my newest one, Here and Now, above.)

Kervillicious

2009-06-06T14:10:00.000-07:00

Now officially a Kervillian!!

I set off from Galveston with some local farm produce, all my camping supplies and a stomach full of butterflies. Kerrville Folk Festival or Bust!! I didn't know quite what to expect. I had found out about the festival from some people I met at a party in Austin on my way back to Texas from Portland, Oregon back in February. I had shared some songs at the party and was encouraged to go to the festival. I was also encouraged to move to Austin which I still may do at some point. I've only started writing songs since the Divorce and I only learned guitar because I love to sing and was worried I wouldn't fit in, that everyone would be so much better than me, that someone would yell out 'You Suck!', etc. etc. You know how the mind can start running like a freight train.

I had a little freak-out at Rockin' Robin Guitars in Houston the day before. I was painfully aware of my limitations on guitar and was looking for a book or something - like I could take a quick crash course in music theory the night before. It was raining like a banshee and there I was, dripping, looking like a lost, wet rat in front of the sheet music and books. I felt so helpless and frustrated and all I kept hearing in my head was a little girl's voice, repeating, 'I just want to sing. I just want to sing.' I started crying and the poor guys at the shop didn't know what to do. One guy kept doing drivebys, seeing if he could help. He even showed me how to do some scales and I just kept looking through book after book, not really understanding, feeling overwhelmed. At one point, he came over and just gave me a hug. I walked out with a pack of picks and some blank manuscript paper for writing songs.

I swallowed a big 'ol lump of fear and packed up my truck. When I arrived at the festival, the volunteer who greeted me took one look at me and said, 'You're glad to finally be here, aren't you?' I don't know what kind of look I had on my face, but I was indeed, glad to have gotten myself there, come what may. And the adventure began.

I wasn't in the same space as many of the folks there, some coming back year after year. I wasn't there to party. I was there to take my stand as a musician, to start where I was, to face my fears and to get some help. Some motivation, some guidance. I got all that and more.

The first day of songwriting school, Rick, the director, began talking about the muse, about creativity. I started crying almost immediately.

"(Clap!) From this moment on, you are a successful songwriter. Put all the angst in a box with the doubt, etc., tie it up with a bow and place it in the garden of life. When they 'escape', or arise again, give them a little time and then put them back in the box, retie the bow and place them gently back in the garden. As you walk away, whisper to them 'Love ya.'

It was exactly what I needed to hear. I thought it would be all about theory and song structure and technical details. There was a group of instructors and they all added their expertise and experience. I was so disarmed. My heart felt so full. I had never been so respected or supported in my creativity. Never was I made to feel less than the others and everyone was so encouraging - so real - so giving. I didn't understand when we did get to the music theory part (Thanks, Dr. Dick) - I felt like I was back in Oaxaca, Mexico, only understanding every third word or so - and I trusted that the more I am immersed, the more I will learn. And I was exactly where I needed to be.

I was delighted to discover that one of the instructors, Billy Jonas (www.billyjonas.com), has in the past taught with the instructor I did a singing workshop with at Esalen Institute over the new year, Claude Stein. Billy is a bit unconventional and his session was about cultivating our creativity, grounding ourselves on a daily basis in our bodies to support us as we delve into the vulnerable places that great songs come from. Cliff Eberhart was an inspiring critic - I was amazed to see how he would listen to a participant's song - not the lyrics, but the music - and suggest a chord change or a transition and how it would energize a song, bring it out into relief. Rick was a lyricist and in addition to the opening encouragement and activities for bringing forth our creativity (no such thing as writer's block - see earlier post - Grandfather Tree), he shared some valuable information on song structure and rhyming schemes and told me I had some natural talent with words. Everyone shared what they knew best in such a down-to-earth collegial way that I was continually moved. I was beginning to understand why those at the gate greeted everyone with the phrase 'Welcome Home!'

A huge THANK YOU to the volunteers, instructors and participants of the 2009 Songwriting School. May we all keep 'saving the world, one song at a time'.

Me and Freebo, one of the instructors - a renowned bass player turned singer-songwriter who highly recommended The Artist's Way. His music is truly inspiring.

www.freebo.com

Group 1: Tad, Courtney, Instructor Rick, Lloyd, a guy who came just that one day to audit, and Farrel.

Lewis Childs from Portland, OR

www.LewisChilds.com

We were so stoked after the first day of songwriting school that a few of us kept talking after class seeking refuge in some shade. Four of us; me, Lewis, Jason and David; took turns sharing songs - we had all been in different groups. It was one of the highlights for me. Some of the song circles were really intimidating. Even though I was definitely the least skilled of the bunch (Lewis was amazing), it felt safe for me and the guys were so incredibly nice, appreciating and giving me advice about my songs. It was so affirming - I tear up thinking about it now - I sometimes still have trouble calling myself a musician! I grew up thinking I was the serious, nerdy one - definitely not the hip artist type.

'The Brothers', as Lewis nicknamed Jason and David, playing after school on the last day. They used to play together in college and met up at the fest as a kind of batchelor party - Jason is getting married in July!!! Congrats!!

OOooeeeee! That storm was a doozie!!!

The canopy never recovered even after lots of duct tape and love.

Some new fans. They videoed me playing Food on My Plate to use with a kids program. I thank truck drivers in one verse and he's a truck driver!!!!!

Me and Tyler Jordan, tenting right next door.

We shared songs at a fire the first night. He lives in Austin.

Me and Meredith, one of Tyler's friends.

Me and Alisha, also camped next door with Tyler and friends. Her hubby drew the South Austin Music mural in Austin. It's rad and has one of my song school instructors on it.

She's super nice and has a gift shop in Waco.

The Ballad Tree on Chapel Hill

Yours truly at Ballad Tree wearing my 'Born Free' t-shirt

I sang my love song called We Tried, (it's posted about my Utah ex, Ed) one of my ones I have been frustrated with b/c the chorus and verse have the same melody. Afterwards, David helped me come up with a new melody which meant the rhyming scheme didn't work anymore so I had to change the words. It is now much much shorter with a totally different chorus and a different tentative title: Sometimes You Just Have to Walk Away. It doesn't even have the words 'we tried' anymore, but I may put them back in bridge form or something. I'm still working on it. I am also using a capo on the second fret which is helpful for my natural vocal range. I've had a capo for awhile but never used for anything except for playing one Indigo Girls song that called for a capo. I didn't really understand it's usefulness.

Jason singing a song about Texas he wrote before ever coming here. Has a line about a salamander which he changed to have it jumping out of his suitcase which actually happened at a hotel in Kerrville last week. Some hypothesize it was actually a lizard.

Me, Katie, Tad, Jason and David in the dancing corner by the Main Stage.

Terri Hendrix and Lloyd Mains

(two of the instructors at the SongWriting School)

performing at a Children's Concert

Me and Terri after the show. She loves to hang out and talk to fans after the shows.

Katie and I hung out after many of our songwriting cohorts split and decided to write a song together, a song of imprisonment and liberation. We brainstormed some images and lyrics and I wrote the music for the verse and chorus. Unfortunately, then she had to go back to Austin. I went down to the Medina River the next day for a few hours and fleshed out the rest of the song. Then I shared it at Steve Gillete's critic circle where the chorus got a thumbs up, but, as usual for me, it was too long.

I sang it for Tad (www.TadDreis.com) later and he very generously helped me with the song structure. We cut out two of the verses and he helped me ( drum roll please) ... write my first ever bridge. I didn't really get how those worked or how you went about writing one. He actually wrote the music for it and came up with the final words after a discussion of how to make it the liberation piece. It uses minor chords for a different feel and I really dig it. He helped me with the teeny intro and the extended prechorus at the end and throwing in an Em in the chorus for the last time around. It was awesome to leave Kerrville with a new song, one much more musically interesting than most of my others. It's called Suit of Armor. It will be a song on the future album: Shy Girl Blues. Maybe. Anyway, it was way cool to collaborate with other musicians. I was skeptical at first that the story would get lost cutting out so much, but it really seems to work. Better. I am now ready to take all my other songs to the chopping block!!!!

Johann Wagner serenades the crowd. Check him out at jwagnermusic.com

One of the cool hotspots was across from the Kerrtree store at Staff Kerrecords where volunteer staff members played their original tunes and sold their CDs. Lots of groovy tunes.

Ellie and I at Guitar 101 under the Council Tree

Charlie, Jerry, the instructor, and Anne

Guitar 101. Dogen (Founder of Zen Buddhism) said 'Start where you are and practice will occur.' So I took advantage of the free guitar lessons offered by Jerry who happens to live in Clear Lake, not far from me which means I can continue learning chord progressions, bar chords, arpeggios, and (drum roll please) ... to read music. I've been wanting to do that for a long time. By the time I left we were using the first three frets of the first three strings to play Aura Lee and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. Humble beginnings.....

Driving back to Galveston as the sun rises, a song arose as it often does as I drive distances and the chorus so far goes like this (thanks Hat Guy for the inspiration):

Cheeri, Cheerio

He gave me a hug and called me Cheerio.

I knew he'd been down the same road.

Cheeri, Cheerio

He gave me a hug and called me Cheerio.

I knew I'd found a kindred soul.

The whole thing was kind of like that. So much support, respect, collaboration, and creativity from so many kindred souls expressing themselves courageously, sharing themselves generously. Saving the world one song at a time.

Grandfather Oak

2009-06-06T14:01:00.000-07:00

I see you.

Do you see me?

What have you seen? What have you experienced? What wisdom have you garnered over the years? How many years does it take? Will you be my friend? Can I hold your branch? Will you give me refuge? Can I just climb like I did as a child - a free, open, awe-inspired, curious child investigator. Can I give you all my conclusions? I don't want them anymore.

Can you teach me how to sway and bend without breaking? How to be graceful: intricate leaf arrangements, delicate patterns, yet trunk strong as steel. Where do you place your roots? How did you know where to put them? How did you get what you needed? How many others like me have you comforted?

Heat rises from the ground and you don't hold on. Wind moves and you don't try to catch it. Rain falls and it quenches your thirst - you don't drown.

(ten minute timed writing assignment at Kerrville Folk Festival Songwriting School 2009)

Beach Bum: Essay 3: March 26, 2009

2009-04-29T19:18:00.000-07:00

A gull flies overhead, arcs back toward the shore and lands. It stares off to the left.

A small white dog with brown spots pants over to a ceramic bowl, licking up water as if she’s found an oasis in the middle of the desert. She’d gone missing in our perception – not her’s – disappearing into wetland plants taller than she. Harmonized whistling from the top of the dunes by me and my new friend, Miranda, we thought was futile. However; just as Miranda headed down to tromp into the green in pursuit of the dog she’s had since they were both knee high to a grasshopper, out darted Poppy in a dead heat straight toward the shore fifty yards to our left. Now she sits between us, content, grooming herself.

Miranda & Poppy

My bum is currently a foot off the sand, supported by a blue swath of fabric which is itself supported by an aluminum frame. Aluminum is useful here on an island constantly bathed in salty, moist air. My feet are covered in sand, my army green pant legs are wet and sandy – I was surprised by the tide soon after I arrived. My well worn Chaco sandals almost washed out to sea as the tide continued its move inland.

It’s been lovely sharing nature with Miranda. All kinds of stories were recalled from my childhood. Memories of oil spills and tar-covered beaches, of being surrounded by cabbage head jellyfish bobbing in the water, of a friend swimming out to the second sandbar and into a school of eels, of myself swimming parallel to shore and into a school of grouper, fish everywhere flapping against the whole length of my body. There was the time I crawl-stoked into a Portugese man-of-war that I felt, but never saw, red streaks painting my right arm. I recall being grateful the tentacles didn’t slap my face instead.

I want to tell her everything: about the different beaks birds have specialized to what they eat, the seaweed, the sea anemones. I want to take her into the salt flats. I want to share the joy that I find here in my hometown, the one I was so eager to leave.

Another cloudy day, yet no rain. The temperature is perfect: not too hot, not too cold. Just right. No need to spoinl the present moment with oppressive thoughts of Texas summers.

I feel an itch on my left bum cheek and wonder if a sand flea has found me. I had forgotten about them – images of childhood post beach showers where all kinds of surprises fall out as you peel off your suit: amazing amounts of sand, shells, and sand fleas.

I feel at peace here. No need to worry about where I will be sleeping tonight, when repairs might start on Mom’s Ike ravaged house, or if she will be able to purchase a new one. No worries about whether Dave and I are meant to be friends or more. Just gratitude for what I have and for what I’m glad I don’t have. So often I forget to be thankful for all of the terrible things that could be happening that aren’t.

I used to have a travel alarm clock that had a setting that sounded like this. Sounds of nature to lull one into sleep. Yet I don’t feel sleepy.

If I took a little piece of the scene before me, it could be seen as a chaotic swirling and churning. I remember being knocked over by waves as a kid - my sister Sherry and I would sometimes for fun go farther than we could touch the ground. I can see Dad far away on the shoreline waving his arms for us to come back – I guess we were confident he would come to get us if we needed him. From here, fifty yards back, all the motion is contained, held by the shore, supported. It’s calm here. I feel my feet firmly on the sand. And I know that if I got up right now, walked into the ocean and started swimming perpendicular to shore, I’d make my way to the calmness beyond the wavebreak. It’s calm there. Floating on my back, eyes closed, I allow the ocean to hold me, to rock me while I listen to the chatter of my dolphin cousins.

Poppy’s up now. She wandered away, sniffing, and then turned and ran full speed back to us. Just because.

I am amazed at how fast the legs of the shorebirds move as they run across the sand, stop, peck, run some more. Now the whole flock flies straight up in concert to avoid the approaching tide and again settles on the sand.

My exposed right shoulder feels the recent visit of a skeeter and I notice a few have landed on my left arm. As I look at my arm, I notice that the hair is standing on end. The temperature must have dropped a few degrees and/or I am feeling the effects of sitting around in wet clothes.

I hear an ambulance in the distance. My bladder is full again. I scratch a bite on my neck and start feeling antsy. And itchy. And ready to go. Buh-bye, beach. I know you will be here waiting until the next time I decide to slow down, to notice, to be.

The Earth Can't Be Saved Without Peace

2009-04-21T13:03:00.000-07:00

I have been working on a song I started in college. My boyfriend-at-the-time, Jason, bought me a T-shirt at the mall. It was white and had a big blue Earth with the words 'Open Your Eyes.' Those are the opening words, the opening line of the chorus.

My understanding has changed a bit since the time I chanted with my friends and fellow activists at Texas A&M's Texas Environmental Action Coalition 'Save the Trees, save the forests, save ourselves, save ourselves...' as we marched up to the capital building in Austin to protect clearcutting of our state's forests. I have noticed the separation that is created and/or deepened when there is an 'Us' that is called to action, that loves the Earth, that 'knows' who the bad guys are and a 'Them' who we have to bip on the side of the head, so to speak, with our passionate chants and protests so they can wake the hell up and see things our way.

As a child who was bipped on the head on occasion, I can tell you that it did not make me more likely to hear what the 'bipper' had to say or make me want to join forces. And so, I've been editing the song a bit to include what I have learned, to reflect my current strategy for I still hear the call of the Earth. The one I first heard my freshman year, the year I realized life was about more than shopping malls and boyfriends or being popular. It was the year I realized I was here for a reason, the year I turned into the weird older sister. It was the year I suddenly started speaking in front of crowds because I had something I wanted to say, had to say. People I meet today have a hard time believing I was painfully shy in junior high, but I think most will understand how you can do things you couldn't do for yourself for those you love, and, in my case, for a planet I loved, one I realized I was a part of and that needed my help.

Today, I ran across a video of my teacher at San Francisco Zen Center, Eijun Linda Ruth Cutts. There are many reasons I was drawn to her in particular, of the many choices there. She embodies many traits I would like to cultivate in myself and she hears the same cries of the Earth.

It was she who gave my my Dharma name during the Boddhisattva Initiation Ceremony, the one where I vowed to devote my life to the Boddhisattva Way, to the Truth, to peace. My name is Chirin Eian: Earth Companion, Song of Peace. In our tradition, the first part of your name is what your teacher sees manifesting in your life in the present and the second part is what she or he sees manifesting as your practice matures.

When I first received the name, my youngest sister thought it very fitting for me - she's known me for awhile. However; aside from the fact that it is hard for people to pronounce, it felt too big to me - I felt like I wasn't doing enough to 'wear' the name. After all, it had been years since I had been in a protest or written a letter to Congress or even been to a beach cleanup. So I didn't use it. Until last summer. I was in retreat and instructed to expand my consciousness to include the natural surroundings (we were meditating outside). After 'being' a tree, birds, the wind and even a passing car, I heard a loud voice come from beneath me, from the Earth itself and it say boldly 'I AM CHIRIN.' And I said, 'Okay.' I didn't argue. It is now my joy to not judge myself as unworthy of the name, but to acknowledge the connection I feel and to discover how that will play out in my life. I notice I am writing songs and singing. Because it moves me. It is my heart's greatest joy. Tell me what you think about this song. I have not performed it yet. I'm still working on the lyrics.

Horizons

Open our eyes/minds/hearts/arms,

The Earth is asking us to open our eyes/minds/hearts/arms,

She's begging us to open our eyes/minds/hearts/arms

D C D

(1) And see what there is to see/ See what’s happening to you and me

(2) See other points of view/ Without respect for each other, we're through.

(3) No need to push people away/ We all really want the same thing.

(4) Embrace with humility/ Close the space that’s between you and me.

G
To you and me and the birds and the insects and fishes,

C D

the marine mammals and amphibians.

To the sky and the water, the earth and the forest

C D

How can we just let this all be?

For our sons and our daughters will be born tomorrow

C D

(Could we look at them straight in the eye?)

It all starts right here, right here in our own hearts.

C D

The Earth won’t be saved without peace.

CHORUS 2

And if we all got together, it’d be so much better.

Can you see how good it all could be?

To live in a world so loving and giving

that asks of us only respect.

There’s no man on Earth who is not my brother,

No woman who is not my sis.

I’ll wait for you here with my heart and hands open.

The Earth won’t be saved without peace.

CHORUS 3

I don’t understand why we all can’t be happy.

Do all of our dreams have to die?

But it’s not essential to step on each other

To run to the front of the line.

Do you know what you’re buying with that product so cheap.

Let’s take our heads out of the sand.

But without blaming and shaming and pointing our fingers.

There’s no reason we have to be mean.

Nobody’s hands are all clean.

CHORUS 4

Repeat Verse 1

Repeat CHORUS 1

Adlib...The Earth can't be saved/won't be saved/can't be saved without peace. No matter how hard we try/If there's hatred buried deep inside/We'll keep robbing our brothers/Make bombs and not butter/But the Earth can be saved/will be saved/can be saved by peace/Let's join one another and make of butter/The Earth can be saved by peace...

Yeehaw!! Ride 'em cowboys, cowgirls and cowkids!

2009-03-28T14:15:00.000-07:00

My sister, Jackie, invited me to the rodeo with box seats!!! Swank!

You should have seen how fast everyone ran out when we heard the ice cream cart! And, of course, it was served in a cowboy hat!

They start 'em young in Texas. Imagine watching a bunch of kids running after sheep and tryin' to ride them! One of the most adorable things I've ever seen! Good thing this kid was wearing a helmet. They all got up and waved to the crowd with big 'ol smiles no matter what the outcome.

I enjoyed the concert with the revolving circular stage. He played some inspirational tunes in addition to standard country fare. I became inspired and asked the waiter for pen and paper and scribbled down some lyrics for a new tune.

To my amusement and surprise, Bevo was there - the mascot of my college rival, T.U. (Texas University - known to the rest of the world as The University of Texas. We, at Texas A&M, consider our school to be 'THE' University of Texas.) In reality, I don't really buy into all that school fighting. It was fun to tease my brother-in-law though who roots for the other side. ("Was he barbecued? - I asked when he and Sherry told Jackie and I the steer was there.) I am seen hissing as I recall doing in school. I actually have a lot of friends who went to T.U. and had I known more where my interests would lead, I might have gone there.

Beach Bum: Essay 2: March 13, 2009

2009-03-14T11:41:00.000-07:00

Time to do my nature writing assignment again.

I just spent the last few minutes rummaging through my mobile storage unit, a.k.a. my truck, looking for this journal. With some frustration. With some resistance to the current state of my life. At least I found it in the cab and didn’t have the leave this truck oasis currently under attack by water hurtling down from the sky.

It is really interesting how a view of the world is tinted so dramatically by the lenses one wears. I currently don the ‘this is not what my life should look like’ lens and everything is a hassle and an inconvenience. Yet I recall loving the rain, sitting the in the meditation hall at Green Gulch Farm, allowing the sound to massage my aching knees. It felt like love. Now, I spurn ‘love’ and want it to go away.

Could be worse. I am reminded of a jalopy I drove in high school: a Pontiac J-2000 SE with a hatchback my Dad bought used for $2000. I learned a lot from that car. Rusts runs rampant here on the island. The internal mechanism allowing the driver’s side window to roll up and down corroded. So began a game whereby I would remove the side panel, lift the windowpane up to its highest position and replace the panel. It would slowly make its descent due to the vibrational energy of the car and gravity.

Now, those who have grown up with little money and a desire to transport one’s self other than with one’s feet or public transit are familiar with the love and care necessary to keep a car performing, albeit at the minimum level. You have to pay attention, watch the gauges, listen. You know how to fix a flat, where to buy retread tires, how to start the car with a wrench and how to put out a carburetor fire. You know to turn on the heater when the engine starts overheating and how to add fluid when all the warnings and manuals say ‘DO NOT OPEN THE RADIATOR CAP WHEN ENGINE IS HOT’. That message is just for novices. You just need a towel and some patience. (Do not attempt to do this at home, please) So, I played the window game. It wasn’t such a big deal unless it rained. I began to hate the rain with a passion.

Comparatively, it’s not that bad in this moment. My truck is reliable and at the least the cab doesn’t leak (though the camper shell does a bit). I am dry although the cold is starting to creep in.

Back to the reason I am here. Nature writing. Which assumes one is in nature. Not sure if cowering in my truck counts. Somewhere in this truck is a pair of rain pants. I know where my umbrella, rain parka and floral garden boots are. All are in the back. Along with my gloves. Might be tricky to write out there and I’m definitely not setting my bum on the sand today!!

I’ve been questioning my decision to return home. What exactly am I doing here? It was more clear what I was doing out on the West Coast. My Mom is happy to have me here and hopes I stay – maybe I will, who knows? I am happy to have the opportunity to be helpful and provide some support as she still puts the pieces of her life back together after Hurricane Ike. But is there a life for me here?

I see the high rise in the distance. I hear the pitter pat of the rain as it lessens its assault. A car drives through the parking lot and makes its way as close to the beach as it can. I hope it doesn’t get stuck.

Here comes more rain. An increasing crescendo. I find myself listening as I do at the symphony – trying to pick out the different parts of the orchestra as the rain plays different parts of my truck.

The little red car turns around and leaves. No one got out.

It’s hard to distinguish the Gulf from the off-white sky. A low, grayish stripe peeks out above and between the artificial dunes. Flashes of bright white can be seen as the waves curl and break.

A gull and friend fly toward me as a flock of their kin cruises the shoreline. I can make out part of the fence with the red ‘Do Not Enter’ signs I sat by last week and think ‘That’s where I should be!’ I hate it when I 'should' myself. ‘I shouldn’t hate either’ I think as I do it again.

A dark blue Chevy pulls up to my left. I wonder if they’ll get out.

I remember senior night at Astroworld in Houston when it started to rain. We loved it, staying to ride Texas Cyclone again and again, experiencing the added exhilaration of rain pelting us in the face. It was awesome! ‘One more time! One more time!’ we’d chant as we returned to the start. Have I become too old and too comfortable to play in the rain?

I hear a metronome as the rain attempts to keep the pitter-patter in time and is doing a lousy job of it because it keeps speeding up and slowing down. I can’t decipher which part of the truck is providing that backbeat.

The frequency of sound increases and I lost all motivation for venturing forth. Instead, I study the patterns being made on my windows. I am reminded of wine tasting – swirling the chardonnay in the glass, analyzing the ‘legs’, the vertical patterns made as the wine descends to the bottom of the glass once the centripetal force decreases to zero newtons.

There’s surface tension as the water forms irregular mounds. When the sum of forces no longer equals zero, the water makes its way to the bottom of the window reminiscent of a shooting star, recruiting friends on the way.

I am also reminded of the video game I played as a child – one I loved more than Asteroids or Ms. Pacman – Centipede. I am moved to want to ‘shoot’ these drops before they make it to the ‘ground’. I gaze at the window and experience an old familiar feeling as I think ‘But there are too many – how can I shoot them all?’

The windshield makes a completely different pattern than the window. Due to the slope of the glass and its curvature, the drops of water immediately meld into one another becoming one slow-dripping cascade. A kind of water feature. Relaxing to watch. It looks a bit like dimples – ‘ooh, like cellulite ‘ I think in disgust, definitely not something even on my radar when dropping quarters into video games at the local arcade.

So far, no one has emerged from the Chevy with the tinted windows. I wonder if there are kids in there making out. My mind is all over the place today.

A black bird appears before me, perching on a fencepost. I must sadly admit that my birding skills are horrid and I can’t even say with confidence that this is a crow. Could it be a European starling? A friend joins him or her before they both fly off to my left, joining a group of them pecking on the ground. They pick up pieces of Styrofoam and other trash and I want to scream out ‘No, yucky, spit it out!’ like I would to my one year old nephew Jacob when he picks up pieces of grass or dead bugs from the ground.

The birds are gone now, but there’s still a two-liter bottle on its side with a blue label. The liquid is brown with hints of orange. Maybe next week, I will return with trash bags and clean up this place.

On my dashboard I spy a pile of sand and a thin, white shell. I picked it up last week, meaning to give it to my new friend, Dave, but I keep forgetting. It’s sitting next to a package of dried, pitted California dates, ‘local’ food picked when I was a California local. It’s my favorite kind of shell. I am drawn to the delicate ones, the fragile ones – a reminder of the transiency of life. I look up from my journal at the shell again. I smile and with a surge of adrenaline, put down my pen – quick, before I change my mind…

I leap out of the truck – no garden boots, no jacket, no hat – wearing blue jeans, Dansko clogs and a fleece shirt and I ran. I run over and on top of forbs, grasses and a toothbrush, squishing sand and splashing through puddles to the dunes. I stop, laughing and take off again for the water. I arrive at the edge and notice more patterns of rain in the sandy pools. I hear and see the waves, and wave myself. I spin around, arms extended and laugh out loud. And then I turn and book it back to the truck, rain pelting me in the face.

I rush back into the cab, slam the door, huffing and puffing, looking like the proverbial wet rat.
I am still alive!!! My nose runs, a trickle of water creeps down my neck and my jeans stick to the front of my legs. My hair is plastered to my head and my laugh is more genuine than it has been in days. Another kiss and a shout out to the creator for reminding who I am.

Texas Two Steppin' on a Girls Night Out

2009-03-12T17:47:00.001-07:00

Mom and I (she was born in Japan, but if you hear her twang, you'll know she's really Texan!)

We decided Mom was way overdue for a night out on the town so we got all dolled up and headed over to Big Texas. It reminded me of a bar I went to a few times in college, Hurricane Harry's. There was a big dance floor in the middle and the music switched from country to rock. It had been years and years since I had tried a two step and thought I might just sit back and watch Mom have a good time, but before we knew it, we were both cutting a rug. I started out stepping on toes, but by the end of the long night, I was not only two-steppin', but jitterbugging, doing the polka and waltzing in addition to some freestyle oldtime rock-n-roll.

Rockin' my hometown with my new friends!

2009-03-10T08:33:00.000-07:00

I saw an ad in the Galveston Daily News for a bar that wasn't around when I used to live here a dozen years ago. The name sounded awesome: The Old Quarter Acoustic Cafe. I checked out the website and when I saw the comment ' where lyrics still matter,' I knew I had found my place. It was more awesome than I expected and I made a bunch of new friends, performing and appreciating other performers, at the Wednesday and Thursday night open mics. This is my new favorite home away from home.

The owner, Wrecks Bell, starts off each show with some rockin' tunes. He's a funny guy.

Reggie offered to accompany me as I sang some original tunes and some covers of Traci Chapman, the Indigo Girls and Dido.

Dave and Tom from Wisconsin here working to rebuild Galveston and sharing tunes from their fave Minnesota band Wookiefoot.

Lee bartends and belts out some original tunes.

The band, Fiel, will be headlining here soon - the passionate, dual language performance was amazing.

Keith Miller had the audience crackin' up with original tunes like the one about his cat.

I am very excited about my new friend, Dave. We have an uncanny number of things in common like the same age, the same former profession (science teacher), similar spiritual trainings (Buddhist), same musical instrument, etc. He's offered to do some guitar harmony with me, adding some needed spice to my strumming (i'm more a vocalist than a guitar player).

Beach Bum: March 6, 2009

2009-03-07T12:23:00.000-08:00

I had been curious where I would stop. I didn’t imagine it like this. Not at all. Bum right on the sand. Where’s my blue-gray, weathered hunk of driftwood with branches and trunk curling up toward the sky? The one that so nicely would have supported me. The one I remember from my late teens and early twenties. When I still lived here. Mom doesn't even live here anymore. Not since the hurricane. Now I’m just one of those ones– the visitors, the ones who create all the crazy traffic. Spring break has begun. As I look around, I realize that the new – well, it could have gone up anytime in the last dozen years since I’ve been here – highrise must have eaten my beloved driftwood. The one where I would read when I wasn’t floating past the wavebreak, ears submerged, listening to the chatter of dolphins.

The sun begins to set behind me and to the right. A glowing orb, it casts a few buildings into sepia tone – one is the island hospital which may not reopen here, but move to the mainland instead, taking hundreds of jobs with it. The water may be gone, but the effects of Hurricane Ike still ripple through the community – the ones still here and the ones scattered around like fall leaves in all sorts of small towns and in the big city (Houston). But, back to here and now…

I notice a smile that won’t leave my face. They say that she who amuses herself never ceases to be amused. This is such a familiar feeling – this dissatisfaction. I had a vision of the perfect spot in nature. Actually drove many miles South to look for it, the pristine, ‘right’ spot where I would be inspired, words spewing forth like popcorn – I’d barely be able to write fast enough. I’d be so empassioned, the force of my grip would break the pen and then I’d be trying to write holding onto the flimsy ink cartridge and I would write until the darkness made it impossible to see the page…

‘This isn’t that place’, I think and I laugh. Of course, I could have kept looking. Right now, I could walk back to my truck, drive to the west end of the island or maybe to the bayside park. I notice that I don’t move and find myself very amused to be here – apparently in the perfect place. I know myself – I have been studious – and I choose to get off the hamster wheel of perfection seeking to discover the perfection of what is all around me: the trash littering the beach; the people approaching to ‘invade’ my spot; the lack of a proper seat for my bum. I catch myself thinking, ‘Next week, I’ll bring my campchair and then it will be perfect.’ How critical the mind is, always searching for that which will keep it from peace.

The gulf breeze helpfully blows the hair from my face so that I can see the page, so I can see the beauty of where I am. While earlier, I saw birds flying by in formation, solitary gulls fish the seas before me now. A family walks by. There are two women, two men, two children, one stroller. I was wrong – two families walk by. A woman in the distace walks two dogs.

I am sitting on the sand right in the middle of a set of tire tracks that leads straight into the water. I hear the baby express itself vocally without words, but not crying.

I turn to my right, hair flinging itself into my face and notice the orb is gone, replaced by a region of pink, diffuse with yellow hues above. A cloud passes through quickly from west to east.

Looking down, I notice a feather. I also notice that I would appreciate a restroom, but a civilized one is not present. Will I bare my bum in front of strangers, I wonder. There is a line of artificially created sand dunes behind me. We’ll see…

To my left, I see a line of posts, barring vehicle passage. A tempting gap opens near the middle, posts on each side warning ‘Do Not Enter.’ I know they are not meant for me with my sandals, yet I wonder how I stop myself. How I bar myself from entering fully into my own life with other people’s stories, with the stories told by our culture, stories that are not for me.

I look forward and the first word that comes to mind is ‘ruffles.’ I see the grand dame, Gulf of Mexico, dancing in a large, straight skirt, rimmed with undulating white ruffles. The constant movement looks the same constantly. Does she never get tired?

A couple in the distance looks also out toward the Gulf. The man raises his arm to point at something.

My attention returns to my body and I thank the earth for supporting my bum so solidly. My bladder says ‘Can we go now?’ And I laugh.

I look up – I don’t know what made me do that – and quickly, audibly take in breath as I notice the moon. A waxing gibbous. ‘Hello moon!’ I am not alone. Not by a longshot. I never am.

The smile is still stuck on my face, lips parted, teeth showing. A man jogs toward me from the left. Wish I had my running shoes. I look up and smile at him as he passes. He doesn’t smile back, yet I keep on smiling. I remember a time when I would have judged him for not being friendly and I would have dropped my smile. Now why would I do that to myself?

Lights begin to emerge from the dusky horizon. The breeze is delightful. I notice a paw print to my left. I wonder if I will be able to find my bumprint so that I can sit in exactly the same spot next week. I laugh as I realize I will sit in the perfect spot wherever it may be. Maybe in a camp chair. I’ll just have to wait and see.

‘Love you, world. See ya around.’ I am moved to bow to and from my spot, as if I am in the zendo of my former community and realize that now, the whole Earth is my zendo. Yay!!

I kiss my hand, raise it to the sky and wiggle my fingers, still smiling, grateful. A shout out to the creator.

The Next Right Thing

2009-03-04T09:33:00.000-08:00

Before Jackie was born, Dad, Mom, Sherry and me. Dad's been gone for eleven years now.

Byron Katie says she doesn't make decisions anymore. She just waits and then notices that she does certain things instead of other things. I used to drive myself crazy over needing to make the 'right' decision, analyzing pro and cons, being pulled in multiple directions as if I'm being drawn and quartered, fearing I'd choose wrong. Some of the themes studied at San Francisco Zen Center that have been helpful to me in this regard are as follows:

stay in the present (with a strong sitting meditation practice that grounds you in the body, helping to get you of of your deluded mind),
stay in "I don't know" mind - out of the 'I know terrible things are going to happen if I make the wrong decision and I'll suffer for the rest of my life' mind (oh, the drama!),
honor your own practice, your own path - staying out of comparing mind and just start continually right where you are with, as Cheri Huber (contemporary Zen teacher) says, 'conscious compassionate awareness.' Study of the Genjo Koan has helped me with this concept.

In mid-January, right before I went to Great Vow Zen Monastery near Portland for a retreat, Oregon, I received an email from my sister Sherry. I had been traveling up and down the West Coast since I left Tassajara Zen Mountain Center in July due to the impending wildfires (which did indeed sweep through the complex which was saved thanks to the efforts of all beings). I had planned when I left Tassajara, to move to Great Vow at the start of the New Year and live and practice there for one year. I had interviewed with the abbot in October. The good questions posed by Hogen Bays and the adventures and experiences that followed made me unsure what would be best for the 'me' that was actually showing up in January. The Life Vows Sesshin or retreat was the last scheduled thing on my list. I was compiling a list of options and continually harboring concern about my mother who was displaced by Hurricane Ike in late summer. As I spoke with Kojun on my way up to Oregon, I was still considering residency there. And then came the email. It was an invitation to a birthday party for my newest nephew, Jacob, on February 7th in Houston. And just like that - click - I thought, 'I'm going home.' My body responded with a very calm, 'yes.' No stress, no 'buts, and no real idea of what that would look like or how long I would stay. No fearful knot in my stomach. All I had to do, in the advice of my musician friend, Daniel Nahmod, was to do the next 'right' thing.

Me, Sherry and Jackie. Mom made the dresses Sherry and I wore. And I loved that bunny necklace with the bunny ears that moved.

I left Great Vow with a list of vows and a peaceful heart and started driving home, arriving just in time for the birthday party. I still don't really know what I am doing here or how long I will stay, yet I know this is where I am supposed to be right now and that's enough.

SFZC Abbot Steve Stuckey says family practice is advanced practice and I have definitely been diligently practicing. A zen koan says 'Don't go home. They will call you by your name.' And sure enough, I am back to being Linda instead of the 'Daline' I've been since I was nineteen or the 'Chirin' I've been for the past year or so or the 'Pixie' that my friend Matteo has been calling me since October.

Who am I indeed?. I certainly have ideas and concepts about who I am and how much I have grown in the last decade, especially the last five years. And it is interesting to just come back home and be 'nothing special', just Linda. Very humbling and also a bit of a relief. For a long time, I believed a story that I would NEVER move back to Texas, that there was nothing there for me, no like-minded people. I was afraid I would morph into some narrowminded, arrogant, overweight Texan and not even recycle anymore. I was afraid I would lose something that I thought I had gained. But I don't believe that anymore.

I am not interested in living in fear. I am interested in living in vow. I have noticed fear arising, especially around money since things have not worked out exactly as planned and I find myself in a hotel indefinitely. And so, I thought this might be a good time to review the vows I elucidated while in retreat at Great Vow in January:

I vow to stop holding myself back, to stop making excuses, to stop believing limiting thoughts that keep me small and timid: I vow to be big and bold. (That was my New Year's resolution crafted with the help of Claude Stein and the Natural Singers workshop participants at Esalen Institute in Big Sur, CA.)
I vow to be a vessel through which love flows freely.
I vow to scrutinize lovingly every aspect of my life so that I may bring all my actions fo body, speech and mind into alignment with Truth.
I vow to bear witness to the Earth, hear her cries for help, and respond appropriately. Without hesitation.
I vow to cultivate a solid, consistent lay practice to anchor me so that I may withstand any storm fearlessly; so that I do not close my heart to anyone or anything.
I vow to be of service: this life is not mine.
I vow to love myself so completely, accepting everything past and present, so harmoniously that there is no fear to project onto the future and all I can see is LOVE.
I vow to be patient with myself and others, trusting that everything is unfolding exactly as it should, perfectly on time.
I vow to love like the wind...indiscriminately (the motto that arose for me during Byron Katie's School for the Work). I vow to inquire deeply into my thoughts to find out what I am believing that is not true. My job will not be done until I can look into the eyes of everyone and see Buddha, see God.
I vow to practice continuously, endlessly.
I vow to offer 'my' gifts to the world unselfishly. They do not belong to me.

In the spirit of Vow #1, I just signed up with Sonicbids to be able to enter music contests and maybe !?!? get some gigs. Craziness!!! Here's the info I posted about myself - those of you who know me, please offer feedback - especially those who have heard me sing!

Having crawled her way out of the depths of despair, the Pixie now bursts forth with songs of love lost and found, inner strength and humility, strumming her six string with a sparkle in her eye, a smile on her lips and a heart as big as Texas.

Born in Texas, the Pixie grew up on the 'South Coast', yet set out for the West early and is deeply influenced and inspired by the deserts and mountains as well as the wide open ocean. Having rejected country as a child, she now loves to sing with a twang as well as with soulful angst. Her influences include Edie Brickell, the Indigo Girls, Traci Chapman, India Arie, Alanis Morissette, Dido, the Eagles, John Denver, Pink, No Doubt and Daniel Nahmod. Through her soulful, honest, open heart, The Pixie shares her journey through the darkness and delusion into the light. In her song, Loud and Clear, you will see that journey take place before your very eyes. With nothing left to lose, and everything she needs, The Pixie sprinkles her pixiedust indiscriminately, loving like the wind. Be careful of looking deeply into her sparkling blue eyes; you just might fall in.

Original songs: Loud and Clear, Moon Over Mickey D's, In This Moment, We Tried, My Friend Paula, Living in my Truck, Baby Dragon Face Down in the Mud
Covers: Thank You by Dido, Kid Fears by the Indigo Girls, Behind the Wall by Traci Chapman

Let the unfolding continue!!

Everything and the Two Umbrellas

2009-02-26T22:32:00.000-08:00

All clouds arise and pass away, even the darkest ones.

EVERYTHING AND THE TWO UMBRELLAS

Two umbrellas outside the door,
A whirl of emotion,
What do I need?
Not him. Not for them not to be.
What do I need and who can give it to me but me?
What do I need?
To be whole? To be empty?
I gassho to the closed door with the two umbrellas and carry my selves forward.

What do I need?
Who is this I that needs?
The rain falls down.
On me. On who?
What looks up and who falls down?

Two umbrellas outside the door.
I enter the hot 108 degree water.
The steam rises.
No tear arises this time.
Just a dull ache. Heavy. Heaviness.
Where do I feel it? Can I feel my body?
Can I feel my breath? Whose breath?

Two umbrellas outside the door.
What do I need?
Not him. Not for them not to be.
What, then, do I need?
To be whole? To be empty?
What do I need and who can give it to me but me?
What do I need but the knowledge that I do not lack.

The rain falls down on my naked body.
I step into the warm pool.
The rain dances on my head, dances on the surface of the water.
Leaping. Can I leap?
Is there something beside the pain?
Can I find the one who is not hurting?
Can I find the joy?
Can I find the middle of this painjoy without losing my way?
What is there to lose?
What way and what was it that I was looking for?

Two umbrellas outside the door.
I step into the warm, dark room, water dripping slowly from the ceiling.
The air – does it embrace or does it oppress?
Same air – what changes?
I lie back on the wet, wooden bench.
A drop of water lands on my right eye, surprisingly, and I smile,
The thick, warm air covering me like a soft blanket.
What do I need that I do not have?

I walk down to the creek.
It rushes at me, roaring.
What do I need? I roar back.

It just keeps rushing.

I bow deeply.

The rain falls down on me.
I fall on the rain.
Who falls? What is rained on?
We fall down.
We meet.
We are.
We.

I plunge back into the 108 degree water,
leaving the glass door open to the rain,
to me,
to us.
I reach out my arm,
my hand is open.
The fingers curl naturally.
Can I feel the,
yes,
I can feel the rain falling,
feel falling,
feel.
I lean back, the sky is white.
Can I see – what can I see?
How far can my eyes reach?
The rain falls down on me,
It reaches me.

Two umbrellas still outside the door.
Something still stirs inside.
What do I need?
I gassho again, and, once inside my room, miss my watch.
Have to go back again,
past the two umbrellas still outside the door.

How many times down this same path?
Thoughts make deep trails in the ground.
What do I need?

May they have all the time they need to find out if they can meet,
they with their two umbrellas,
behind the closed door.
If they meet, the dharma filling their bodies and minds
– if they open each other’s way,
Then I am more than the everything I was before
– more joy in the world.
We are all more than the everything we already are.

Everything and the two umbrellas.

Happy 1st Birthday Jacob!!!

2009-02-10T10:36:00.000-08:00

I made it!!! I was worried a few times I wouldn't make it in time to celebrate this big day. I missed seeing him be born so I was excited to be there for the big 1 year b-day. He's so cute! This time I wasn't the big scary stranger to him that I was when he first saw me at Christmas (he didn't remember my visit in April)!

My grandma loooooooves me!

It's my party and I'll make a mess if I want to, mess if I want to.... (Mommy will clean it up later:) hee hee)

I'm adorable!! I've got this family wrapped around my teeny little fingers!

Bubble time with Daddy and Ethan at Monkeyin' Around.

We are family...I got all my sisters (and brother-in-law and nephews) with me. (Mom took the picture)

Tempted to stop the tour in Austin!

2009-02-10T10:07:00.000-08:00

My body is fusing to my truck. More coffee please.

Time to give my truck some lovin'. Six quarts of oil, a new air filter and wiper blades at a family owned establishment. I love small towns!!

The worst weather I've seen the whole trip. I've been superblessed!

Yay!!! Made it through the late afternoon traffic of Austin (hate cities!), hung out in a local park, wiped out in a wash (the guitar suffered no injuries!), and went to a new local dining hotspot on South 1st with my friend Jason.

I was very excited to see this sign outside.

We started out with some local beer.

Jason and I dated my freshman year of college (gig 'em Aggies!!!), eons ago. We hadn't seen each other in 13 years. He is happily married to a musician, Penny Jo, and super into guitars. He has a resonator which I had never heard of that has an awesome sound without needing an amp. He is also super into music. Always was. Has music posters all over the house.

The food was awesome. The owner and his wife are dedicated to local food.

This is on every table. A shout out to the local growers!!!

The Texmati rice is local as are the winter greens. Yum.

I love that my friends love dogs, cuz then I get to love their dogs. I got a little choked up from all the love Ruby was dishing out. This pit bull is a hunk of sweetness - she shared the bed with me, reminding me of my old lab, Sammy. May he never lack for balls to chase after, and swim to his heart's content!

Oops, forgot his name. He had to get to know me a little better before he'd give me some lovin'.

Oh, my goodness - have to come back and write about the awesome campfire musicfest next door!! Totally awesome!!

Sunrise to Sunset: wheat fields and oil derricks

2009-02-06T07:41:00.000-08:00

After my run, I did some laundry, updated my blog, completed some online business and then Lisa walks in from work. If I left then, I would have hit terrible traffic...so I stayed another night. We went to Sunflower Farmers Market (a grocery store) where I had never been before. Lisa made tempeh tacos, I made a vegan chocolate cake with agave syrup instead of sugar. Not local at all anything in it:( Then we watched a chic flick.

Local goods for the road from Sunflower: Cottage cheese distributed from Robinson Dairy in Denver (need more data), Haystack Mountain goat cheese from Longmont, CO (applewood smoked - some of the best goat cheese I've had ever!) and Wheat crackers from Fort Collins called Nita Crisps . The package was labeled and hand packed by workers with developmental disabilities who produce quality work for local businesses!

I left Denver at 5:50 am. Haven't been up before the sun in awhile. It was nice.

Hello sunshine!!

Wheat fields and oil derricks all over Kansas

"So, I heard that Colorado passed legislation banning round haystacks."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"Because the cows couldn't get a square meal."

Wind power!!!

Oklahoma state restaurant/market with local products. Not sure about the conditions of the animals so I didn't buy anything and their jams had high fructose corn syrup:(

The sun and I spent the whole day together!!! Uh... yeah...think it's time to stop driving now - fourteen hours!!!

Couldn't resist the hotel lobby make-your-own Texas waffle setup! The wheat could have grown down the highway...

One of my exes lives in Colorado...

2009-02-04T15:14:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, I was married.

Rivers and mountains blocked our way.

May we both be ridiculously happy all the rest of our days.

Eternal gratitude for all the ways I was loved and cared for...

I will consider posting this breakup song...it's a bit intense and contains some profanity...I was in a deep, dark, sad space...

Okay, well, I am committed to cultivating humility and compassion for self and others...

ONCE UPON A TIME

(November 2005, one month before the divorce was finalized)

Once upon a time,

there was you and me.

We were lovers and best friends,

and we lived so happily...

But I didn't like my job,

set off to see what I could be.

You chose to stay behind,

you said you'd wait for me....

The first gig went so well,

three months on the lake and I was back.

The next one in Cali sounded cool,

five months and I'd be back with you...

CHORUS:

But I ****ed it up,

****ed it up royally.

Yes, I ****ed it up,

****ed it up for you,

****ed it up for me.

Twice upon a time,

kissed a boy that was not mine.

Called you on the telephone

to tell you what I'd done...

I tried to justify,

At least I didn't tell a lie.

He touched a part of me,

that was hiding deep inside...

You said we could work it out,

eight years of history.

I should have come straight home,

didn't know how weak I could be...

CHORUS

Thrice upon a time,

I thought we could still be friends.

Driving through, I would stop by.

Now when I see you I cry...

Because now you have Alison.

What I did can't be undone.

Didn't know just what I had.

Look in the mirror,

I see 'bad'...

Lost my lover and best friend.

No one to blame but myself.

Don't know who I hurt more you or me.

From this guilt, will I ever be set free?...

CHORUS

Guess I'm just ****ed up.

What do you do after that other than move to a monastery?

Got a good friend in the city...

2009-02-04T15:12:00.001-08:00

Lisa and I guided rafts together in Vail. Now she lives in Denver. She's awesome!

We went to a pizzeria, ate, drank and talked until we noticed that all the chairs were up all around us!!!

Went for a run with her adorable husky, Hunter!!!

One of my exes lives in Utah...

2009-02-04T14:54:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, long ago, I dated a guy named Ed.

We Tried

The first time I met you I was floored,

Now sometimes I wish you hadn't walked through that door,

What you do to me, I can't explain,

All I know is that my heart is filled with pain, cuz...

CHORUS:

We tried, I tried, you tried, we tried.

Why was it so hard to find a way?

And why did we keep trying anyway?

Friendship, that's a joke, won't work - no way!

Cuz we tried, I tried, you tried, we tried.

It was not the right time to start a thing.

I had just taken off my wedding ring.

You walk in and sweep me right off my feet.

We had to see if ever after, we could live happily, and...

CHORUS

Picnics in Old Town Park, we talked philosophy,

Dinner by candlelight, you even wrote me poetry.

Hikes in secluded canyons in the spring,

We were mesmerized, how could it have gone so horribly? Cuz...

CHORUS

There was a time I thought you might be the One,

Then came the big fight and the unraveling had begun.

The connection we made doesn't happen every day,

but I'm not a Panic girl so I guess it wouldn't have worked anyway, cuz...

CHORUS

Like meteors passing through the atmosphere,

too much alike, we burned each other when we came near.

We were beautiful as we streaked across the sky.

Not meant to last we have to smile and say goodbye, cuz...

CHORUS

Can't think of one more thing we haven't tried....

All we can do now is say goodbye.....

(We had some good times) Goodbye....

(I still love you) Goodbye....

Goodbye....

In This Moment

In this moment, there is nothing wrong,

In this moment, I can just sing my song,